


Falling

by vesper_house



Series: Morning Comes [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark fic, Distrust, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Please Proceed With Caution, Suicidal Thoughts, mention of aids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 06:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: Please read the tags before proceeding.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Long time no see. It's a dark part of the story but I hope you'll enjoy it nontheless.

Winter puts on a show of power. It is holding on tightly. Temperatures dropped significantly on the entire east coast. Superman saved a homeless woman dying of hypothermia earlier today. No one counted how many did not survive the cold except for Clark. He has been very productive in the past few days. He would do everything to avoid confrontation but yearned for a phone call from Bruce. Doubts pile up and the hope for resolution fades with every passing hour.

Staying at Lois’ place is… It is what it is: hiding. From what? Clark is not sure. There is a threat looming over his head. He can feel, but does not have a name for it yet. He is tired. Physically and emotionally. Curled up on the living room floor with a glass of wine like a rom-com cliché. It is nice. From this perspective the world does not feel so overwhelming anymore.

“Why did you sleep with him?” Lois asks from her favorite spot on the couch. Softly. Clark feared she could have been hurt by him having a relationship with a man. If that is the case, Lois is concealing her pain quite well. One thing is clear: she is worried. Clark has to thank her for that. Maybe later. “Why do you ask? I don’t know. Why do people sleep with each other? It’s chemistry… Attraction, heat of the moment,” he waves his hand in the air to make up for lack of proper words, “and all that.”

“I agree. But that’s just so unlike you. You were always so careful.”

“I don’t know.” He knows, of course, but he has to keep the details under lock and key. The lie feels like a noose around his neck. Lois was supposed to be the best confidant of his life. Having secrets she cannot know about feels like a huge step backward, back to the times of lonely days and living in different city every month, sometimes every week. However she is attentive and notorious and even the slightest hint is enough for her to find out the truth. The secrets do not belong to him exclusively; Bruce’s identity is on the line as well. Gaining something means losing something else. It is all in the balance. “It just… It happened.”

“Clark, can you be honest with me?”

“I’m being honest.” To some extent…

“Did he force himself on you?”

“No! God, no. Why would you think that?”

“I know a few things about men in power,” Lois takes a sip of wine. “You can be vulnerable. Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Did you just mistake vulnerable with gullible on purpose?” Clark smirks bitterly. “I’ve told you to not take this the wrong way.” She refills her glass. The bottle is almost empty. “There are people who’ll take advantage of everyone the minute they can smell a personal gain. When you’re that rich and that influential, human beings become just another thing to buy.” Lois takes a look at the remaining liquor on the bottom of the bottle, pours it into her glass and adds: “Or a tool to be used. I’ve seen it up close and personal.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t think I’ve made it easy for them.”

“I’d never.” Clark wishes he could protect her from all the evil. It is always a small end of the world when he realizes it will never be possible. “All right. I understand where you’re coming from, I really do…” He sighs. “Just so you know, he hasn’t done anything I didn’t want to do. Everything was consensual. He…” Clark looks at the ceiling, trying to evoke the moment their lips touched for the first time. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. They were different people. Strangers. No capes. If only he could go back to experience it all one more time. “He’s different, Lo. I wish I could tell you what is it about him… that pulls me in.” He had a choice that night. Fall asleep in his bed like nothing has happened or go on an adventure. “I wanted… I wanted to do something stupid.” Clark scratches his face and neck, embarrassed. “You know how some people get absolutely trashed every weekend so they can function during the week? Take drugs and pass out on a bus stop but are back on track on Monday morning? I don’t have that. Not that I’d like to… Okay, maybe I’d like to, I don’t know. Sometimes I… I just want to let go. He offered. I took the offer because I… I wanted to see what would happen.”

“So you were curious?” The memory of Bruce’s cocky grin flashes in front of Clark’s eyes. It is a little embarrassing to share these stories with Lois of all people. Analyzing new love conquest with an ex-girlfriend seems out of place, even if the relationship was slightly unusual. Clark cannot tell her about amazing sex and how he did not suspect another man’s cock could feel so good. Boundaries need to be respected. “Yeah. I think so. One night stand with a beautiful stranger. I mean, what could go wrong, right?” He chuckles. Lois does not share the amusement. “But something did. You still haven’t told me how did he find out about you.”

“It was a coincidence.” That is not everything. Bruce has stepped over the line and invaded his privacy. It was not even the first time: coming to the conference, finding Clark’s apartment, wiretapping the phone… Just how long was he observing him? Hidden in the shadows, keeping up with his public persona to get what he wanted? What was his real purpose? Maybe he doesn’t have an ulterior motive, Clark thinks, it could be a coincidence. He was so weird when he found out, right? If he suspected anything wouldn’t he act differently? He didn’t know. That’s impossible. “Are you protecting him?” Lois asks. Clark whispers: “Maybe” and drinks some more wine. Four days have gone by and still no call from Bruce.

\---

You could do it now. You were thinking about it. Now, now, why not now? Quick and easy. Now’s a chance. Turn the wheel. Easier than pills. Now, it can happen now.... Why wait? Nothing’s gonna change for you anyway, you coward, you useless, dumb, pathetic piece of shit... Turn the wheel and you won’t survive the crash. Just like that. The car will catch fire and explode. Do it now, get this over with… Now and you won’t have to think about Alfred, what about now? Is it now? Will you do it now? Now?

Bruce parks the car in the cave and quickly runs upstairs. Blood is dripping from his gloves. He is not sure if the guy really deserved that beating… but Bruce did need to drown out the voice inside his head. He has trouble staying focused; thoughts seems to form and shatter immediately like porcelain on concrete. Do it now you idiot, poison from unknown source seeps into his ear, with a weapon or a knife, plenty to choose from what you’ve collected down here like it has any real meaning, you’ve got the guts, be a man and finish this once and for all, stop being such an embarrassment, you’re parents would be ashamed of you, you know that, put an end to this miserable show, you’re not even putting your heart into it anymore, get this over with… One step and you’ll be free…

“Was the interrogation fruitful?” Alfred’s calm voice resonates in the cave. Bruce grits his teeth, struggling to keep his composure. “Quite the opposite,” he answers, voice a little too harsh. See, you can’t even treat your own family right. Alfred would be so much happier without you. His skin itches. It is not because of a chemical exposure of any kind. Bruce gets even more annoyed. He felt this itch many times in the past. “I’m going to bed,” he says, dismantling the suit in a hurry. “So soon?” Alfred sounds surprised. “You’ve told me to keep it easy, remember?”

“Frankly sir, I’ve forgotten the meaning of this phrase.”

“That’s a shame. Goodnight.” Yes, make him go so you can be alone, so you can do it… “Alfred?”

“Yes, master Wayne?”

“Can you wake me up tomorrow at eight?”

“Won’t be a problem, sir.”

“Thank you. Night.” Bruce moves to the showers, throwing pieces of armor on the floor like they are burning. It is not the suit – he feels like he is on fire. The icy cold water offers some relief as he scrubs his skin to the bone. Is staying alive worth it? What’s that gonna accomplish? Was there ever anything to accomplish, to win? Where’s the line between victory and your narcissistic drive to be someone greater? There’s nothing. You’re nothing. Stop pretending you can change this. You can’t control anything. Not even your own goddamn thoughts. “God, shut up.” Bruce turns the tap off. He needs a distraction. Maybe something pleasant, too. He toys with the idea of calling a model or a socialite who would show up in a heartbeat on his doorstep with plenty of blow and no underwear, young, pretty, eager to please and not asking any fucking questions, too busy making life a never-ending party. It is what they chose and Bruce will not hold it against them, he really will not because he has nothing better to offer. Why not fuck and drink and sniff your way into the grave if there is no way of making a change in this world. Now, do it now...

Wine has all of the excellent qualities of southern France. Bruce pours himself a glass, drinks it like it is water, and then another one, but that does not cut it. He goes to bed with a bottle of vodka in hand. There is still a lot of pills in his secret stashes. He hides them from Alfred like little kids hide candies. There’s enough to fall asleep and never wake up, take them now and all of this will stop, what’s holding you back? Take them, there’ll be no pain. Just sleep. All of this will end.

It is just withdrawal talking. Distraction, distraction is what he needs. Before he wraps himself in soft Egyptian cotton sheets, every drug he has accumulated over the years goes down the drain. He feels silly. Silly and so very tired. Stupid old man, drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Stupid, sick and a little drunk. Something deep inside of him whispers that he could use a hug but that stuff is for good people only, not him. What he really could use is some sleep but despite the fatigue the sleep does not come. Grunting, he picks up his phone and does the usual: he reads Clark’s articles. Not the ones from the Daily Planet; Bruce goes for the very old stuff on Clark’s blog. It has not been updated since he took the position at the Daily Planet. Written under pseudonym, the blog is something between a diary and a magazine entry.

Some of the articles seem to be old college projects. Others, which Bruce likes a lot more, are short documentaries on what he assumes are places Clark used to work at. Lumber mills, factories, steel foundries. Clark describes those places like a sympathetic mirror walking around the blue collar neighborhoods, showing them exactly as they are but thoughtfully turning the other way when the truth becomes too harsh. His observations are sharp and judgments are kind. It is a shame those pieces will probably never go to print. However the one Bruce likes the most is heavier than others: an impromptu interview with a woman who took care of dying AIDS patients back in the 80s. Melissa (impossible to say if that is her real name or one Clark has given her) lived alone on a huge farm somewhere in Pennsyltucky. Her first patient was her brother. Then came his boyfriend. The another one who slept with both of them. She was not fully aware of what was happening to those men. Perhaps this is why she was not afraid of getting infected. Gays’ disease, doctors said. She thought she was safe. What mattered was that no hospital would take them in, so she did. She was also the one who buried them when no one else wanted to show mercy. It is implied she may have helped some of them to get on the other side but Clark, ever so gracious, does not dwell on the subject. He asked a lot about how she felt during that time. Melissa said that she could get used to anything. People are supposed to deal with whatever comes their way. She did get infected in the end which pushed her to sell the farm and live in trailer parks she could not pay for because of hospital bills. She died before debt forced her to live on the streets.

If asked, Bruce could not explain why he was going back to this story over and over again. It was beautifully written, yes, but grim and hopeless. Yet Clark decided to write it the way he did without sugarcoating the reality. Maybe he too felt it would cheapen Melissa’s sacrifice.

Phone buzzes unexpectedly. Initials CK blare on the screen and hurt Bruce’s eyes. He does not pick up. This is the way it should end. He knows how to play the role of the asshole. Clark is someone who can make a change, bigger than Melissa but just as selfless. That is the kind of person Clark is.

Bruce finally falls into dreamless sleep.

\---

“Bruce? Wake up. Wake up, please?” It is still nighttime when Bruce jolts awake. “What are you doing here?” He asks sleepily. He is too drained to muster the energy to act harshly. “I called you twenty times and you didn’t pick up. I was scared something happened.” Even in the alien suit Clark is soft and warm and enticing like a fireplace in the middle of snowstorm. Bruce would like to stick to the scenario and kick him out but there is no will to fight left in his entire body. “I’m fine,” he grunts and makes a point of turning his back to Clark. He wishes he could protest when the abnormally hot body gets close to his. Tomorrow is the day. For now, he will let himself enjoy it. 


End file.
